A rose in the crypt
by RosedeVampyr
Summary: This is technically crossover with Phantom of the opera (after the musical) but set in the world of Van Helsing. I know I have other stories in progress but I wanted to post this. Again, please note that English is not my first language.
1. Chapter 1

Budapest, 1881

Carlotta Giudicelli´s dressing-room was full of roses.

They filled the baskets, they framed the vanity mirror - marvelous flowers in red and yellow and pink hues. Carlotta picked up a single red rose, not quite as magnificent as the one in her black lace mantilla, and this beauty was tied off with a black ribbon and a note signed as "From Count de Ville." Carlotta smiled.

Sudden draught snuffed the candles.

Carlotta looked around her. She heard the distant voices of celebrating patrons and managers outside her dressing room. She stepped toward the door but then she felt the touch of icy air in her feet and around her ankles and turned around.

White mist was spilling through the cracks of the window into the room. It crawled over the red floral carpet and made a milk-colored pillar which started to become solid.

Carlotta cursed mildly in Spanish - she was not foul-mouthed, dirty creature.

"Hell! Vladislaus…?"

The mist take a shape of a most beautiful redhaired woman. Her hair was not hennaed like Carlotta´s was, and she was wearing the flowing pink robe, which always made Carlotta think of wild roses.

"No," Aleera said and smiled, adding mockingly; "_ángel_ _de_ _la_ _música_."

Carlotta sighed. "What do you want?"

"Is that rose from him?"

Carlotta knew Aleera´s jealousy. She was not scared of other vampire, though."Yes. Why did you came, Aleera?"

"Master sent me to make sure that you are not late in the ball."

Carlotta smile was a mocking grimace. "I just need to change my clothes." She would not need bath - as a vampire her body didn´t produce any dirt. "We will be _fashionably_ late."

It was all Hallow´s Eve, just before the midnight.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you so much for all reviews, favorites and follows! **

**.**

The walls of the room were austere grey stone, but the guests were wearing lavish ball-gowns and Hungarian costumes; velvet, satin and fur, flowers and lace. Dracula had chosen one of his long black jackets, like always.

"Carlotta. You look ... splendid is the word I have in my mind."

Carlotta bowed her head for Dracula´s compliment. She was wearing a splendid ball-gown of red velvet, with roses scattered across the neckline; a veil, dyed with resplendent ruby color, covered her hair; unnatural bloom blushed her face. She he did not answer in order to avoid using word "Master"; she did not had to, because Dracula said:

"Shall we?"

Carlotta took the offered hand and let Dracula to lead her to eerily beautiful waltz.

"Have you heard about Christine Daaé?" Dracula asked, when they swirled on the floor.

"Yes," Carlotta said shortly. Christine Daaé´s fall from grace had been all over the newspapers.

"I have heard that she performs at rather gaudy place in Coney Island, and she had an affair short before the wedding."

"Christine Daaé´s "talent" is in her youth and prettiness, violent manager and her eagerness to let the career criminal to grope her at the stage," Carlotta said coldly. "Don Juan Triumphant was a gorgeous-looking opera flop. There were some poetic lyrics; it was risque, something which brothel theatres would show, but the critics and real _opera_ audiences disliked it."

Dracula smiled. "She is only seventeen. She may turn better."

"Unripe, too. Inferior _and_ unripe talent. "

Dracula did not say more, but smile stayed on his face.

.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Sorry for delay, I have been so busy! **

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Wind blew autumn leaves outside the open French windows. Carlotta´s night stand was covered by photographs: Piangi; Piangi and Carlotta; her mother. Carlotta felt pang in her heart when she thought the latter.

_Sad neglected grave in Spanish countryside... _

_No_!

Her mother was not there. Carlotta took the vase of red flowers and put them near the old woman´s picture. Her beloved were with her, both of them.

She disrobed and snuggled into her bed, enjoying touch of rose-pink satin against her bare skin. Her velvet-gown, as clean as before the ball, was draped over matching chair.

Soon she was in deep sleep.

.

Group of teenagers were standing in the street corner, spitting and yelling obscenities to the people hurrying to the work. Aleera watched them from the roof-top, covered by darkness.

_Filth. _

Wind fluttered her dress, when she pondered her attack. She had drank in the ball, but those humans were willing recruits, not meant for brutal attack, and just now Aleera wanted something less delicate.

_Aleera, my ruby, I will never replace any of you with other women._

Dracula had once stated this unsentimental fact: brides were his possessions, his treasures to admire and enjoy, if not love. He had changed Carlotta for a whim, because he had thought that she would make a wonderful vampire.

He had been right. Still, Aleera could not help her feeling that Carlotta was a rival.

Softly she landed to the alley behind the young riffraff.

.

The boy was laying in the street like a broken doll. Police pushed the crowd away and knelt.

"Who did this?" he asked.

The boy let out a gurgling sound. "A woman," he managed to say. "She had red hair... lustrous. Like an angel."

Then he died.


End file.
